Acceptance
by Dinogeek
Summary: Sequel to Adaptability. Even at five Sherlock had managed to teach him an important lesson, but Mr. Davison hadn't seen the boy in years. Then one day, he gets to realize he's not the only one who learned it. Post-Reichenbach.


**A/N: So this is actually a request I got from a couple different people for a sequel to 'Adaptability', which is this kidfic I wrote a few weeks back about Sherlock when he was in school and he had this awesome teacher of awesome. :D ****It could technically be read as a stand-alone, but it'll make a _whole_ lot more sense if you've read Adaptability first, especially at the ending. Anyways, I ramble. Enjoy, and I would like to remind you I love reviews... just sayin'... ^-^ **

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><p>Sean Davison was still a teacher; he wasn't the retiring type, even though he'd started teaching in his twenties and, quite frankly, he didn't want to think about how long it had been since he was in his twenties. One generally didn't like to when the first number was larger than the second. All the same, he was still a teacher, and he still taught kindergarten even though it meant chasing around after children who were quite literally a tenth of his age day in and day out.<p>

He had a nice routine going, he had to just for keeping things streamlined, and also because he was a creature of habit. He got up every morning at seven a.m. sharp, showered, got dressed, and made himself coffee. Lots and lots of coffee, and then he would read the newspaper.

One day in the summer, when he flipped open the paper, he was surprised to see a familiar name on the page. He remembered Sherlock Holmes quite well, from back when his age began with three and not five. The boy had made himself hard to forget. A lot of people had mistrusted him, but Mr. Davison had seen something in him past the five-year-old who literally could not sit still. He certainly hadn't been the easiest student to teach, not by a long shot, but he had (if unintentionally) taught the teacher a good lesson that not everyone could play by the same rules.

Unfortunately that lesson was scattered thin on the ground outside of his classroom and after Sherlock had moved up to the next grade and on through primary school Mr. Davison had worried about how he would do when he got out into the world, where rejection came fast to anyone who couldn't fit in with the crowd. Now it seemed that Sherlock had managed to succeed, and his old teacher was happy for him.

Of course, then the whispers had begun. Nothing too extreme at first, just a hint of doubt worming its way into the papers. Was he real, they wondered, could anyone actually do that without any help? Mr. Davison hadn't taken it too seriously at first, figuring that it was just the papers fluctuating opinions as they always did. But it had steadily gotten more and more vicious, insisting that he was a fraud, that it was all a setup and that he was some kind of psychopathic criminal mastermind. Mr. Davison wanted to knock them all upside the head and tell them that they were being ridiculous- Sherlock Holmes was many things but a murderer was not one of them. But he was only a kindergarten teacher, not in a position to be knocking any heads, and no one had listened to him.

Finally, the day came when he opened the paper and saw what he'd feared he would see all along: 'Suicide of Fake Genius', read the headline, splashing it out like it was the breakup of some celebrity marriage rather than the death of a human being. He had closed his eyes, barely glancing through the paper before folding it shut- he didn't particularly care what they had to say about Sherlock Holmes, not after they'd driven him to killing himself. He had tried to cast it out of his mind and focus on his students, but he'd done a poor job that day. Tanner had come wandering up to his desk at break time.

"What's happened? You look upset." Mr. Davison was surprised he had noticed anything, but then again he was talking about Tanner; it made sense that he'd noticed. The boy reminded him so much of Sherlock that it was a tad unnerving, with his uncanny ability to see things no one else noticed. Mr. Davison smiled at him gently.

"It's nothing, Tanner, just... some bad news about a friend of mine. But thank you for asking; it's good that you were concerned." After class was over that day, he'd gone back home and thought long and hard about, well, he wasn't really sure. He was just, thinking.

A couple of weeks after that, he read in the papers that they buried Sherlock in a cemetery in the north of town, again skipping the article associated with it out of general disgust for their attitude. The next day, after his second class of half-days was done, he finished his paperwork early and went to see his old student again. He stood in front of the grave, not sure what to say.

"You know, I always wondered about you after you moved up," he told the headstone. "Wondered what would happen to you, where you would go, what you would do. I worried about you, too; you were always so smart but you just didn't know how to be the same as everyone else. Then I read about you in the papers and I thought maybe you'd manage to teach everyone else what you taught me." He gave a sad, slight laugh.

"It's not often you learn a life lesson from a five year old, is it? But for what it's worth, you taught me something really important, even though I know you probably didn't care. You taught me that not everyone can play by the same rules, and that it's not always a bad thing. You taught me to accept people for who they are. And I took that to heart, you know?" He sighed again, and then added quietly, "I just with someone else had." He shook his head and turned to go just as a sandy-haired man came up.

"Oh, hello," the other man said. "I, uh, wasn't expecting to see anyone else here." Mr. Davison smiled at him.

"Well, for what it's worth, I wasn't expecting to be here. I had just… no, never mind, it's nothing important." He made to leave, but the other man held out his hand to him.

"I'm John Watson," he said. Mr. Davison shook his outstretched hand and returned the introduction.

"Sean Davison. I know this is going to sound stupid, but I'm a kindergarten teacher. He was a student of mine more years ago than I want to think about." He gave a slight laugh. "I've read about you in the papers, Doctor Watson. I don't believe what they say about him, you know." John nodded tiredly.

"Thanks. I was starting to wonder if they'd gotten everyone believing that load." He gave a small grin. "I can't imagine Sherlock being a five year old." Mr. Davison smiled back.

"He was quite unusual, he always was. Whenever I read something in the news about him supposedly being all these things, all I can think of is the five year old boy who would run into walls for fun." He smiled fondly at the memory and he realized that his staying any longer would be slightly awkward. He tipped his head at John.

"I'll leave you to yourself, then. It was nice meeting you." He was about ten steps away before John called out to him one last time.

"You know, Mr. Davison, for what it's worth, I learned the same lesson from him too." Mr. Davison turned around and gave the doctor a real, genuine smile.

"Good," he replied. "For a while I thought I was the only one." Then he turned and left the cemetery; he still couldn't tell what he was thinking about. The next day in class, Tanner bolted up to his desk again, asking him about how long it was until recess. "Just one more hour," he responded.

"I can't sit still that long!"

"Well, why don't you work on your homework then?" the teacher asked him, arching an eyebrow.

"I've already finished it all. I can't stay still while I'm waiting for everyone else; I can never settle." Mr. Davison thought about Tanner for a minute. He reminded the man so vividly of Sherlock it was unsettling. He had the same constant, unrelenting energy and poor handwriting and severe hypersensitivities that had characterized the detective when Mr. Davison had taught him. Unfortunately, he also had the same poor social skills that had caused the teacher to worry about the detective at the same time.

He found himself wondering again what would happen when, not just Tanner, but everyone else like him were sent out into the world. He tried so hard to teach his students that no, not everyone was capable of being normal and that it didn't have to be a problem, but he didn't know how well that lesson would stick. The world had a bad way of ignoring what it shouldn't have, and people like Tanner and Sherlock were regarded as insane or unstable, instead of the good, different people they could be. He shook his head imperceptibly to himself. He couldn't change the world, he knew, but that didn't mean he couldn't change _anything_. He had a sudden idea, and smiled at Tanner. "Tell you what, Tanner- I'll cut you a deal."

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><p><strong>Just to clarify, I meant this as kind of like the cycle repeating itself, with him doing the same things over again for Tanner instead of Sherlock.<strong> **^-^**


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